


Arise

by KurtofskyoverKlaine



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KurtofskyoverKlaine/pseuds/KurtofskyoverKlaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt Hummel dies in "Grilled Cheesus" and Kurt has to deal what that means for him since he's underage. -- Prologue: Kurt says goodbye.// After a month in a Group home in Columbus, Kurt's social worker finds him a home back in Lima. (Begins chapter one) Kurtofsky friendship/Romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arise

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: God Bashing (I mean no offense. I respect all religions)

Prologue

 The only consolation about today is that it’s remarkably beautiful. The sky is a flawless, striking blue. The sun shines brightly, but not hotly. The light wind that blows is refreshing and brings with it the fragrance of the perfectly kept grass and flowers, which overwhelm you and make you think that you’re in some meadow -- not a cemetery.

If I close my eyes, I can almost make myself believe that I am _anywhere_ but here in this cemetery, burying my father.

Burying the only person who truly loved me.

Burying the last person ever to love me truly.

However, once I open my eyes and see that I’m standing at my father’s gravesite, surrounded by my friends and my father’s friends, I _can’t_ make believe that I’m anywhere but here. This is my reality and I can’t escape it. No amount of pretending can change this.

I tune out the priest -- I’m not interested in _anything_ he has to say -- and focus on looking around, staring at the people around me; looking in wonderment at how beautiful nature can be even on a day such as this. Just making sure that my gaze _does not_ rest on the gaping hole in front of me with my father’s casket hovering above it by a pulley system.

All day I’ve kept quiet and collected. Everyone looks at me worriedly, but I don’t care. I’m doing _them_ a favor. I’m sure no one wants to try and comfort a hysterical me, which I only let myself become when I’m alone and well hidden. No need to make them uncomfortable.

They all offered their support and condolences, but I haven’t thanked or acknowledged them for their words of false comfort. I’ve only nodded and walked away. Once again, I’m doing them the favor because if I open my mouth, the only thing I can and want to say is “God is a cruel son of a b***h and is probably laughing uproariously at me today.” I definitely don’t want to say that aloud because I can’t handle the arguments that would start. People, mostly my friends, are appalled that I don’t believe in God. I don’t know why that should surprise them, though. I mean, look at my life; look at today! Should there be any question as to why I don’t believe in Him?

I look at the priest, who is _still_ talking.

I purposely sigh loudly, making sure it’s clear that I’m feeling impatient and irritated. I smirk inwardly at the glares I elicit. I don’t care. I didn’t want any of them here anyway. This funeral was Carole’s stupid idea. She thought it was her right as dad’s girlfriend to see that he was _properly_ honored. I was all for that, just without the religious crap. Honestly, if I had my way, it would have been just me and the gravedigger.

The priest, unfazed by my attempt at an interruption, goes on about God’s love and His acceptance of His children into His Kingdom.

I roll my eyes, thinking that the priest forgot to add that God’s love and acceptance is only reserved for His children that _aren’t_ gay. Because if God truly loved _me_ , He wouldn’t have taken away the only person who loved me as I am. If _He_ truly loved me, I wouldn’t be standing here today, preparing to live the rest of my life as an orphan.

“This is utter bulls**t,” I grumble, barely audible; as I said, I don’t need to start fights.

I look up when a hand is placed lightly on my shoulder. “Be nice,” Susan, my social worker, whispers into my ear.

I only nod and avoid looking at my father’s casket.

Finally, the priest is saying a final prayer and the ushers are preparing to lower the casket into the ground.

Once the casket is in the ground, I take a deep breath and inadvertently hold it as they begin to shovel dirt into the grave. As the dirt sounds from hitting my father’s casket, I have to turn away and force myself not to hyperventilate.

Susan embraces me tightly. I focus on keeping my breathing even and trying to quell the painful pressure in my chest and the stinging in my eyes.

 _“This really can’t be happening. I don’t think I can do this. I’m not strong enough. God, help me!”_ I think desperately.

Or so I thought those words were spoken only in my mind. I realize that I was whispering those words into Susan’s shoulder when she tightens her hold on me and replies softly with conviction, “You’re stronger than you think, Kurt. You _will_ be okay.”

I just nod curtly, forcing myself not to cry. I can’t let myself fall apart here.

When the shoveling has stopped, I turn around tentatively, making sure to avoid looking at anyone.

I look at the now filled grave.

Reality hits me hard: my father is absolutely gone now. I’m alone.

Yet, I’m not, I think as I look at my friends, who are staring at me unsurely.

I don’t have to be.

If only it were a _choice_ now.

I can’t be with them because I don’t live in Lima anymore, and I can’t be around them because I can’t listen to them tell me to have faith in God, or that God will help me get though this.

I mean, a couple weeks ago I tried to have faith in God. I went with Mercedes to her church. I _tried_ to open myself to Him; but as I knew He would, He failed me.

I then cringe inwardly at my sudden cry for His help a moment ago. It was a foolish slip. I then decide that I can’t let myself become that weak again, to rely on some _illusion_.

Everyone then places flowers on my father’s grave and approaches Carole to offer more condolences. Some of my father’s friends come to me and touch my shoulder, repeating how sorry they are for me. I shrug them off and approach my father’s grave.

I kneel down, touching the dirt. The pressure in my chest tightens and I feel a little breathless. I briefly wonder if this is how my dad felt when he was having the heart attack.

Suddenly I remember our last conversation. Dad was disappointed in me because I didn’t want to have a family dinner with him, Carole, and Finn. I didn’t mean to be a disappointment. I just wanted to have some fun; some time for myself. I didn’t know I would be punished so severely for my selfishness.

I take a deep breath, suppressing a sob. “Just because I wouldn’t have dinner with you, Carole, and Finn? And you called _me_ a drama queen,” I murmur and then laugh sadly. I sigh deeply and reach into my slacks pocket. I pull out a lug nut and bury it shallowly in the dirt.

I look around and notice that most are looking at the ground where I’ve placed the lug nut, and that they have bemused expressions on their faces.

I smile faintly. They don’t need to understand why I placed a lug nut on my father’s grave instead of flowers. They don’t need to know that working on cars with my dad was some of the best times we spent together; that it was what made me feel normal and like the son my dad always wanted. Even though dad told me I _already_ was the son he always wanted. I know he meant it, but I’m sure there were times he wished I wasn’t so _different_.

I pat the dirt where I buried the lug nut. Besides, I need to leave something that would last longer than flowers since I won’t have the luxury to visit my dad whenever I want since I no longer live in Lima.

I wipe my hands on my slacks and stand up. I take a deep calming breath, repressing the hysteria trying to rise in me. No need to make a spectacle of myself. Besides, it would be pointless to grieve _here_. Dad was gone the moment he died last week in that hospital room. All that’s here is just his body. At least if I make myself believe that, then I don’t feel _that_ insane, because a part of me keeps wondering, “If he’s still here, why can’t he just wake up?”

I glance over at the grave next to his. The horribly depressed part of me thinks, “I _am_ entirely alone now.” The slightly optimistic side thinks, “At least he gets to be with her again.”

A ghost of a smile crosses my face. “Take care of him, mom,” I whisper as I feel a group of people come up to me from behind -- my friends. A hand is placed on my forearm, but I jerk away.

No one else attempts to touch me, but they don’t leave. I don’t turn to face them. I can’t stand to see the looks of hurt on their faces, especially Mercedes.

There is too much to talk about and explain, but I don’t have the energy. It’s just simpler if we all got on with our lives. No matter how much that sucks and hurts.

Without a word, I leave my friends and head for Susan. I’m careful not to meet anyone’s eye. I’m also not up for goodbyes. That would probably break me and I _just_ got myself together. Thankfully, they let me go in peace.

When I reach Susan, she’s frowning, looking past me. “You really should talk to them, Kurt,” Susan chastises. “It could make things easier. Better even.”

“Or destroy me completely,” I suggest lightly.

“I think you’re doing that well all by yourself,” Susan says dryly.

I give her a sarcastic smile as I entwine my arm with her’s and rest my head on her shoulder. We both just watch as my friends and my dad’s friends comfort Carole and each other.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me for being so selfish?” I ask softly, almost a pained whisper. She knows I’m talking about the last time I spoke to dad; I’ve pretty much told her everything about my dad and me. She’s become my informal therapist.

Susan gives me a kind smile. “I think he forgave you the moment you were. However, I don’t think he could forgive you for shutting yourself out and giving up,” she says seriously.

Tears spring to my eyes but don’t fall. “I’m not doing either of those things on purpose, you know,” I say slightly offended. “I mean, I’m not in Lima. How am I supposed to stay friends with my friends? I can’t even use the phone yet. Stupid levels,” I complain.

“I know. And I’m working on getting you back here, but you know,” Susan says with a shrug.

“I know! There are no group homes here and nobody wants to take in a gay, almost seventeen year old boy who has just lost his father,” I say bitterly. “I’m damaged goods.”

Susan doesn’t contradict me. “So, do you want to go to the wake?”

“I have a curfew of four o’clock. We have to leave now to get back to the group home on time,” I state listlessly.

Susan frowns. “I could talk to Adam. I mean, it’s your father’s funeral for God’s sake,” she says heatedly.

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have wanted to go if I could,” I soothe. “Let’s just get back to Columbus,” I say, miserable about the idea.

Susan sighs, “Fine. I should still have a word with him, though.”

“Don’t. It only makes things worse for me,” I say simply.

We then start for her car.

I look back over my shoulder. I see my friends standing together, watching me leave. I turn away quickly as my heart aches for them.

I wish that things could still be the same. I wish that I could keep them, but I realize even if it were possible, they didn’t belong to me anymore. They belonged to my old life, to an old Kurt. To the Kurt that loved to sing, dance, watch musicals, and obsess over fashion.

They don’t belong to me, to the Kurt who has to focus constantly on keeping himself together so no one worries that he’s losing his mind; to the Kurt that loves to be alone, who lives for silence, and making sure he isn’t noticed.

Moreover, they wouldn’t like the new Kurt if they met him.

And so I console myself with, there’s just no place or reason for my old friends in my new life.

That, and I’m not cruel enough to _subject_ them to the _horrors_ of the _new_ Kurt anyway.


End file.
